


View

by NachoDiablo



Series: Sam Wilson Bingo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Mental Link, Minor Steve Rogers/Thor, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Suits, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo
Summary: Sam entertains a houseguest for the evening.
Relationships: Heimdall/Sam Wilson
Series: Sam Wilson Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046332
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26
Collections: Sam Wilson Bingo 2020





	View

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sam Wilson Bingo square, "Sam is a good bro" ;)

“Excuse me, I… You have a visitor.” The nurse looks uncertain as she teeters in the hospital room doorway.

“I figured,” Steve replies from his hospital bed. His voice is still hoarse, but Sam hears the wry edge to his words. A rainbow did just smash into the ground outside the window, after all. But his battered face softens into a genuine smile. “Thank you for telling me. I apologize in advance, he’ll probably be--”

_ “Steven!” _

Instinctively, Sam jumps to his feet and moves into a defensive stance as the unfamiliar voice echoing down the hall comes closer, even though it’s obvious who it belongs to. The nurse scampers backwards as a large blond man in a cape ducks to barrel into the room. A metal hammer slips from his grip as he strides to the bed, falls to his knees and clasps Steve’s hand, then brings it to his lips.

Sam blinks. He’s seen Thor on television, of course, but up close and personal, he’s  _ huge. _ And kissing Steve’s hand, which is an unexpected development. But it’s no weirder than anything else Sam’s seen this week, and honestly it’s nice to be graced with a  _ happy  _ surprise for once.

“Are you alright?” Thor asks gently.

Steve grins. “This is nothing. You’ve seen me in worse shape.”

“Yes, after fighting off an entire army of alien killbots.”

“And  _ you  _ were in even  _ worse  _ shape after that,” Steve shoots back. “I’m only ninety five, I’m the young, spry one. I’ll bounce back just fine.”

Thor rolls his eyes. “It’s good to see that your sass is intact. Clearly you will make a full recovery.” 

In one elegant movement, he’s on his feet, hands circling Sam’s shoulders. Sam can’t help but smile, feeling his cheeks warm under the weight of those baby blues. With all the ass-kicking ladies and blond beefcakes crossing his path, this week is really coming for Sam’s bisexuality.

“Asgard has seen your work,” he says. “You have a warrior’s heart.”

“Uh, thanks.” Sam tries to smile. What does  _ that  _ mean? Was all of Asgard watching his car get totaled on the bridge, like it was a football game or something? 

“You have saved my beloved and won his loyalty,” Thor continues. “And for that, I pledge my devotion to you as well.”

Thor drops back down to one knee in front of Sam, holding out a hand to catch the hammer that flies into his grasp. He crosses it over his chest and bows his head.

Unsure of how to respond, Sam looks at Steve, whose grin has softened into a sappy mess below batting eyelashes. He meets Sam’s eyes and gives him a thumbs up. Sam clears his throat, then rests a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“My pleasure. I’m always down to help a friend.”

Sam pretends he doesn’t notice Steve’s smile get even sappier when he says that.

~

“I’m going after him,” Steve insists. A plate of leftover penne rosa from Fury’s fake funeral reception sits in front of him, untouched. “It’s gotta be  _ us  _ that find him.”

Sam reaches out and covers Steve’s hand with his own, gives it a squeeze. “It  _ will  _ be. No question.”

Sam and Steve have been in step since their first meeting. They both know that regardless of Barnes’ mental state, and even with knowledge of his torture and brainwashing, there will be little mercy shown if he’s brought in by anyone else. Good guys or bad guys alike, not that there seems to be much difference these days.

“I’m not sure where to start looking,” Steve admits. “I’ve got a few ideas. Guess we should pick one and go for it. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Perhaps.” Thor emerges from the bedroom, freshly showered and clad in one of Steve’s t-shirts. It’s tight as hell across his pecs, and that’s saying something. The sleeves are torn off, or maybe they’d just disintegrated at first touch of those biceps. “But I find the best luck is made, not bestowed.”

Thor drops into the chair next to Steve. Wordlessly the plate of pasta is pushed across the table. Thor leans over to kiss Steve’s temple before digging in.

“I have a friend who may be able to assist,” Thor says between bites. “He sees all that happens across the cosmos. He does not generally leave Asgard these days, but he will come if I ask. It may be easier for all of us to communicate in person, if you are amenable to hosting another guest, Samuel?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam shrugs. “We’ve got plenty of leftovers.”

“Excellent.” Thor wipes rosa sauce from the corners of his mouth with a napkin, then leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling fan.

“Heimdall! Please come, if you’re able.”

Another rainbow strikes down and flattens Sam’s azalea bushes.

~

Sam wishes Heimdall had left his helmet on. 

He kept his cool when a huge guy in fitted gold armor and horns wielding a sword landed in his front yard. He feigned nonchalance when the guy sheathed his sword, straightened his shoulders and stood to full height, bigger and broader even than Thor. 

But when the horned helmet was removed and Sam got hit with the full force of his hotness, that was too much. Strong features curve into an easy confidence, full lips framed by crisp beard, and those  _ eyes, _ liquid amber that ignites Sam’s pulse every time their gazes meet.

Beside him, Steve’s breath hitches every so often when Heimdall’s attention flickers over. Along with Thor’s amused chuckle, it provides Sam with some comfort, knowing that he isn’t the only one affected.

Other than a nod and murmur of thanks at Sam’s stuttered welcome, Heimdall has not said much as he listens to Thor detail the situation. How someone can be so relaxed and attentive at the same time is unnerving. In a sexy way, unfortunately. Sam is torn between wanting Heimdall gone before he embarasses himself, and wanting to kick all the blonds out of his house so he can have Heimdall to himself. Not that he has any idea what to do if he did manage to get a god into his bed, or if he would even survived the experience, but fuck it, Sam’s willing to take the risk.

Heimdall’s hand reaches out and his eyes meet Sam’s once again. For a moment, Sam thinks Heimdall is reaching for  _ him, _ and he suffers a brief moment of elated panic. Instead, his palm rests on Barnes’ open file folder, right over the photograph of his forties self.

“I can see him.” Softer than expected, Heimdall’s voice is, but deep, with a reverberation that raises goosebumps over Sam’s skin. Heimdall’s eyes ignite and flash with a warm glow that shimmers across the tiles of Sam’s kitchen floor. “White stone and gold. Vaulted ceilings, crowded corridors. The sign reads Amtrak.”

Steve looks at Sam expectantly. “Union station?”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” Sam agrees.

“Then that’s where we shall go.” Thor wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Fear not, beloved. We will find your shield brother and bring him home.”

A slight tremor in his lower lip is the only sign of distress Steve makes as he shifts into logistical mode. Barnes’ files are gathered, stray socks are stuffed into a duffel bag. Thor’s got his own bag thrown over his shoulder, but he stops in the middle of the living room and sets it down. He grabs Steve’s hand and laces their fingers together.

“Perhaps it makes more sense for the two of us to go on alone. Heimdall can be… conspicuous, when he’s Seeing.”

Sam bites back a laugh.  _ Conspicuous. _ Yeah, that’s one way to describe light saber eyeballs.

“Heimdall and I can communicate through his Sight, and you and Samuel have your telephone messaging. It may be easier to split up into two teams.”

Steve tilts his head in consideration, then turns towards Sam with one eyebrow raised. Sam nods in agreement. “Yeah, that makes sense. This is supposed to be a low profile operation, right? Y’all go on ahead and we’ll keep you posted once Barnes is on the move.” Sam hopes his voice sounds calm despite his sudden increase in heart rate.

“Okay.” Steve lets out a breath, then flashes a relieved smile. “Thanks, Sam. You’re a good friend.”

“And so is Heimdall!” Thor adds. “I am sure the two of you will have no trouble keeping occupied while we are gone.”

~

“So. You come to Earth often?” Sam fights the urge to cringe as he realizes how cheesy that sounds. 

Fortunately Heimdall is gracious enough to keep a straight face as he settles back against Sam’s sofa. “Not terribly often. It has been a millennia or so since my last visit.”

Sam nods as though he understands how quickly a thousand years can pass. “I guess a lot’s changed.”

“In many ways, yes. But I do keep an eye on all nine realms. I see what evolves, and what remains constant.”

“Oh. Right.” Sam isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t want to spend the rest of the night nagging Heimdall about the secrets of the universe like some annoying kid.

Abruptly, he stands up and stretches. “Come on, let me be a good host, take you out for a drink.” He nods towards Thor’s bag, which he’d left beside the couch once he’d fished out a hoodie. “You think Thor left behind anything in your size?”

“I’m sure I can find something that works,” Heimdall replies, and the far-too-attractive hint of amusement in his voice has Sam highly stressed.

~

Thor is an absolute asshole. How did he have the  _ audacity  _ to stash a fucking  _ suit  _ amongst all of his grungy hobo gear? Now Sam has to spend the evening with Heimdall in a goddamn jacket and tie that he’s casually tailored with magic to fit  _ perfectly  _ and Sam is now going to literally perish because that sight keeps making him forget how to breathe.

~

Obviously, Sam is obligated to step up his own style game. He digs a blazer out from behind his work button downs, shrugs it on and rolls up the sleeves before they head out the front door. It’s almost like he can feel the heat of Heimdall’s gaze on his bare forearms, but honestly he’s been blushing so much that his sense of internal temperature is probably shot.

They walk a few blocks south to a bar. Not Sam’s usual; he’s not looking for familiar faces right now. Plus the Red Door is classy, the sort of place where they’ve got a professional grade citrus juicer to make the freshest greyhounds, so Heimdall’s elegant hotness won’t be  _ too  _ out of place.

It’s weird how little Heimdall stands out, Sam muses to himself. He’s a big guy, of course, and he’s incredibly good looking, plus he’s got that...  _ presence,  _ or whatever it is that draws you in, makes you want to stare at him, smile at him, get him to smile back at you.

But he’s not  _ alien  _ in the way Thor sometimes comes across, both on television and in the brief moments Sam’s met him in person. Heimdall is not as boisterous, and he doesn’t show as many old fashioned tells or culture misreads. He seems at ease in his surroundings, not in the way of a prince who’s used to commanding space anywhere, but as someone older and more experienced, who’s been everywhere twice over and is no longer fazed by the unfamiliar. 

Which is probably the truth. Heimdall has spent thousands of years observing innumerable cultures and places. Sam guesses he’s travelled to quite a few. He’s had plenty of time to hone that charm too, no doubt.

“He doesn’t want to be found,” Heimdall says without slowing his stride, breezy like he’s commenting on the weather.

Sam blinks. “I figured. He did run, after all.”

Heimdall continues walking. They’re keeping pace, but Sam still feels like he’s half a step behind. He adds, “I mean, it doesn’t really matter what he wants. We have to find him. We at least have to try.”

Heimdall shrugs. “I didn’t say what has to be. I said what  _ is.” _

“Well what  _ is, _ is that Steve’s best friend, brother… whatever, he’s out there, and Steve’s not gonna stop looking for him. And neither will I. Steve and I are a team, for as long as he needs me.”

“I figured.” Heimdall stops walking, and Sam nearly trips as his heels screech to a halt on the sidewalk. Heimdall does not smile, exactly, but the corners of his eyes crinkle warmly in a smize that would make Tyra proud. “The two of you are well matched. He is worthy of you.”

Sam’s jaw drops, and he quickly snaps his mouth shut in an attempt to smooth his expression into something other than shock. He hadn’t stopped to think about whether Captain Freaking America was worthy of  _ him. _

The weight of Heimdall’s hand resting in the curve of Sam’s back startles him from his thoughts. They’ve apparently made it to the bar, which he hadn’t noticed before. Heimdall reaches for the door, holds it open as he nudges Sam’s back gently to usher him inside, still smizing.

~

“Can I get you anything else?” It’s a question posed to both of them, but the bartender’s only got eyes for Heimdall, not that Sam blames her.

“Thank you,” Heimdall replies. “This round was perfection. We’ll have another, please.”

He’s smiling at the bartender, but his arm is relaxed across the back of Sam’s chair. The bartender giggles as she takes their empty glasses with a wink and heads to the garnish station.

Sam might not blame the bartender for being taken with Heimdall, but it still annoys him. Still, he doesn’t want to be an asshole. He leans in closer to Heimdall and tries to keep his voice low.

“If you want to make a move, don’t let me stop you. Who knows how many millennia will pass ‘til you get a chance to come around flirting on Earth again?”

Heimdall raises an eyebrow. “Why would I want that? I’m here with you.”

“Yeah,” Sam stammers, “but you… you’re not  _ with me, _ with me. It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

The tips of Heimdall's fingers brush Sam’s shoulder, and Sam thrills beneath the touch. The bartender sets down their refilled glasses, and Heimdall smiles at her again, but his fingers still move in circles against Sam’s shoulder, never breaking their connection.

~

“Fuck,” Sam gasps as he’s pressed up against the front door he’s just slammed shut. Heimdall crowds against him, dipping to kiss his neck as his hands slide over Sam’s hips. Every movement is gentle, but deliberate, confident, vibrating with coiled strength that’s not contained or held back, but well and truly controlled by someone who knows exactly what they want and what Sam  _ needs  _ now, right now,  _ fuck. _

Sam’s knees barely have time to start trembling before Heimdall hoists him by his thighs and carries him towards the bedroom, kisses still tracing his collarbone.

~

On one hand, it's unfair that Sam’s somehow lost all of his clothes while Heimdall’s remain in place, but on the other hand, Heimdall in a suit is a pretty nice view. Sam’s hand drifts to his dick. He’s sprawled against his pillows, naked and aching. Heimdall stands at the foot of the bed. His suit jacket is folded over the back of Sam’s desk chair, but other than that, he hasn’t undressed. With his hand by his hip Sam pauses, desperate for any sort of stimulation, but shy about grabbing his dick in front of a god who is technically his house guest. 

“Go on. Touch yourself.” It’s an offer more than an order, like Heimdall’s giving Sam the go-ahead to take the last dessert at a dinner party. Sam hesitates, but then Heimdall reaches up and loosens his tie, lets it slide slowly off his neck as he winds it around those long fingers. His eyes glint as they roam over Sam’s body with reverence.

Fuck it, Sam thinks to himself, and he grabs hold of his dick, choking back a groan as he starts to work the shaft. He’s slick with precome as he watches Heimdall watch him, eyes the growing bulge strain against the crotch of Heimdall’s pants.

“Beautiful,” Heimdall whispers, and Sam flushes with shy pride. He’s never been fake modest, but he’s not delusional, either. Surely with all Heimdall has seen, Sam can’t possibly be anything  _ that  _ noteworthy. Still, he lets himself bask in the praise anyway.

“I don’t need to use my Sight to see your doubts.” Heimdall’s tie has been discarded on top of the jacket. One hand flicks open the top buttons on his shirt while the other palms himself through his pants. “Allow me to show you what I see?”

Sam’s unsure of what Heimdall is asking for, but he nods anyway. Heimdall’s eyes glow, flooding Sam’s skin with golden light. Everything goes dark for a split second as Sam’s chest tightens, then explodes as he’s shunted back to consciousness before he even knew it was lost.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, watching himself jack off. Panic flashes in Sam’s brain as he realizes he’s seeing himself through Heimdall’s eyes, still bathed in gold. As he gathers his bearings, he realizes that he’s still able to feel his own body, the sensations of his hand working himself over, the rapid cadence of his own pulse, along with Heimdall’s arousal as he, or  _ they, _ watch Sam on the bed.

It’s both extremely weird and incredibly hot.

Curiously, he thinks about moving his hand up to touch his chest, and he watches the Sam in the bed perform the motion. He also feels Heimdall strain against his pants at the sight, and that makes his own dick jump in his hand, everything flowing together, pulling him under to drown in the best way. 

The nail of Sam’s left thumb scrapes over his nipple. He rolls the peak between his fingers as his right hand, soaked with precome, sides behind his balls and traces his entrance. Two slick fingers slide inside easily, courtesy of his regular self-love routine. He fucks himself, slow at first, then faster as his free hand lets go of his pec and wraps around his dick.

He’s vaguely aware as more of Heimdall’s buttons stutter open, but his own building orgasm paired with Heimdall’s throbbing interest is more than enough to keep him occupied. When he comes, it’s unexpected. He watches as his eyes squeeze shut, then fly open as he hits his peak. Perspective blurs as he comes, felt and seen at once and separate. The room tilts as his come spills hotly over his hand and stomach and he gasps back into his own body.

As Sam struggles to get his breathing steady, Heimdall shrugs out of his shirt and pants. Sam nearly knocks the lamp off his nightstand as he scrambles for his lube, and a handful of tissues to wipe himself off with. Heimdall in a suit is hot, but Heimdall naked has Sam on fire.

Sam finds himself pressed back against the pillows again, moaning into Heimdall’s neck as two fingers far thicker than his own spread him open, making his dick spring back to attention faster than possible. Heimdall’s dick presses into the cut line of Sam’s hip, and Sam’s breath hitches as he thinks about what a tight fit that’s gonna be and how much he wants it,  _ now. _

Heimdall seems to sense his impatience. His fingers ease out of Sam and he brings both hands up to rest on the mattress, bracketing Sam in as he looms overhead. He bends down for a kiss, slow and careful, and Sam lets him, feigning submission.

Then he hooks his leg around Heimdall’s and flips them, thrilling at the look of genuine surprise on Heimdall’s face as Sam straddles his hips. Sam fishes the lube out from the tangle of sheets, then reaches behind himself to slick up Heimdall’s dick.

“You like to watch, huh?” Sam grins as he guides the head of Heimdall’s dick to his entrance. “Go ahead and watch, then.” 

And he takes Heimdall in, achingly steady as he lowers himself. Heimdall’s eyes flash more brilliant than the most blinding sunbeams as he throws his head back and digs his fingers into Sam’s hips.

~

Apparently, when presented with a variety of breakfast options, alien gods prefer Lucky Charms. Sam files that knowledge away for future reference. He’s got a feeling his life’s about to get real weird, real soon.

As they enjoy their cereal in companionable silence, a knock echoes at Sam’s front door. He gets up to answer it and finds Steve and Thor on his front porch. They look tired, but uninjured. 

“Is that the magically delicious cereal?” Thor pushes past Sam and dashes to the kitchen table, settling himself in the seat across from Heimdall. He grabs the box and fills Sam’s not-quite-empty bowl to the brim.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles, nudging his shoulder against Sam’s.

“No worries,” Sam replies with a smile. “You find him?”

Steve looks at him and seems to think for a moment, before he sighs and shakes his head. “No, we didn’t. But… maybe that’s okay, for now.”

The first part is expected. Heimdall had checked in on Barnes several times yesterday, and Barnes had appeared to be focused, calm and unobtrusive while on the move. And more importantly, not dangerous, either to himself or others.

But the second part takes Sam aback. He raises an eyebrow, and Steve shrugs one shoulder. 

“He’s been through a lot. I don’t want to be something else he has to run from. If he needs time, well. He knows where to find me when he’s ready.”

Sam doubts very much that this newfound patience will last forever, but for now Steve seems at peace. He nods and claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty to keep us busy in the meantime. Lotta work to be done.”

Steve looks like he’s about to protest, rattle off another one of his  _ you don't need to do this  _ speeches, and Sam narrows his eyes in warning. With a soft laugh, Steve shakes his head and rests his hand on top of Sam’s. “Thank you. For everything. You’re a good friend.”

Sam squeezes Steve’s shoulder, then moves his arm to wrap around Steve and pull him in for a hug. He sees Heimdall out of the corner of his eye, wearing the most regal of smirks as he watches them. Sam meets his gaze and grins. “Believe me, the pleasure’s all mine.”


End file.
